Chords and Codes
by Mounty Swiss
Summary: The theft of a violin is the least of the problems Ironside has to face this time.
1. Chapter 1

**Chords and Codes **

(Ironside, Season 1)

The theft of a violin is the least of the problems Ironside has to face this time.

_Disclaimer: I don't own Ironside._

**Chapter 1: Peace and Challenge**

When Ironside came back from the commissioner's office, Mark and Ed were clowning around with Eve. Pleased, the Chief stopped at the door for a moment. He was glad that the trio had come to a relaxed relationship. That hadn't been self-evident at the beginning: The three young people were from very different backgrounds. For ex-convict Mark, straight cop Ed had represented the enemy. Against all odds, rich but nice and charming Eve was the binding element between the two. And working for the Chief was what connected all of them strongly.

He liked them a lot. And he considered himself lucky to have such a team: Smart, professional Ed; beautiful, resourceful Eve, and strong and highly promising Mark. All of them were loyal to him and eager to learn from him as much as possible. They were his pride and even more: his family. But of course he couldn't show them what they meant to him. His usual grumpiness coming to the fore, Ironside wheeled himself down the ramp, passed Eve and stopped at his desk.

"What's that ruckus all about? Isn't there any work to do?" he asked them sternly; but nobody fell for it. Eve, who was more daring than her colleagues, bent over his shoulder and asked: "And why, Sir, don't you hide your smile, if you're so annoyed about us?..."

The phone interrupted her and spared Ironside an answer. Because she was next to the phone, Eve answered it: "Chief Ironside's office?"

"Eve – it's Clarissa. I'm so glad it's you. I need you and your famous Chief. My Stradivarius has been stolen!"

"No! That's horrible! Please come here and I will see what we can do for you!"

Clarissa had already ended the call.

Clarissa Delongpre was a high-society girl like Eve, and equally friendly without a trace of snootiness. Ed had to force his eyes away from her. She was very slight with long, dark hair framing her delicate face – a fairy-like vision. He had troubles concentrating on her story:

"I put my violin – a genuine Stradivarius – into my locker at the gym. Of course I usually don't take it with me when I go there, but I had to go to an orchestra rehearsal right afterwards, and I couldn't imagine that somebody would do a thing like that."

Since she had no idea about who could be behind the robbery, Ironside decided to take a look at the crime scene first. A team of forensics experts had already been sent there.

"Eve, you come with me and Clarissa. Mark has to go to school right now. Ed – the Commissioner told me that the drug dealer you arrested yesterday gave the name of his supplier. Try to track him down. It's all in that file over there."

Ironside couldn't overlook Ed's long face. Since Eve and Clarissa had already left, he addressed his Sergeant: "You don't expect me to send Eve after a potentially violent drug dealer so you can be with a pretty young lady, do you?"

"No Sir," Ed answered stiffly and started reading the file.

Eve wasn't used to driving the paddy wagon but she managed quite well. When they arrived at the gym, where Clarissa was taking some classes, the forensics experts were already at work.

"There's nothing distinctive except for one set of fingerprints and we're sure they're the ones of the owner of the locker."

"That would be me, Sir," Clarissa announced.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but there's not much to go on. The door was most probably broken open with this crowbar here." He showed them the tool. "It was lying on the floor. You can see traces of green paint on it which comes from the locker. But there are no fingerprints. Either it's been wiped clean or the thief wore gloves. I suppose the latter. I'd say it was brand new, it was just used for this job. But you can get an object like this anywhere, it's impossible to track it down."

"Thank you, you've done a good job," Ironside praised the team.

When the men had left, Eve said: "You were very nice towards those colleagues – but their information doesn't really help much, does it?"

"My dear Eve, it's helping a lot! For once, we know that this theft was planned. You don't just happen to carry a crowbar with you. The thief knew what he was looking for and _where_ he would have to look for it. And then I'd say that he or she was probably no professional. Professionals usually don't leave their tools behind if they don't have to. And besides - a professional would have found a more subtle way to open the locker. So we have to search for the thief in Clarissa's circle of friends and family. Clarissa – who knew that you own a precious violin _and_ that you would take it to the gym today?"

Clarissa was very surprised. "My family and one or two of my best friends; and some members of the orchestra maybe, those who knew that I attend a gymnastic course on Thursdays."

"Please write down the names of the musicians you think knew of the gym class. Was there anybody particularly interested in your violin?"

"Well – yes, now that you ask me. Actually there is somebody: Mr. Janowski. He's the conductor of our little orchestra and my violin teacher. He's always admired the Stradivarius. He's not a very nice person, you must know – sometimes he says that the instrument should belong to somebody who would be able to play it to perfection, and that that 'somebody' isn't me. But he's eighty-four years old. I can imagine that he would like to own my violin, but I can't imagine that he could break into a locker. I'm not even sure if he would be strong enough to do so."

"Why do you keep him as your teacher if he's so rude towards you?" Ironside thought that Clarissa could hire any teacher she wanted to have.

"You see, he's basically just a poor old man. He's Polish, and he came here during World War II, I think. Because of his unkind behavior he probably never had many students, and he has no retirement plan at all. But he's not a bad teacher, and when he was younger, he certainly was a very good violinist."

The Chief was touched by Clarissa's obvious sympathy towards the old man. "So we suppose he didn't steal the violin himself, but it's imaginable that he had somebody do it for him? Or at least he might know something. Let's pay him a visit!" At that, Ironside set his wheelchair in motion. Eve helped him, pushing him towards the exit of the gym.

_**author's note:**_

_Thank you, my dear beta-reader lemonpig73, for your overtime!_

_Thanks to all you kind reviewers!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Casualty and Enigmas**

They rang at the door of a small apartment in a shabby house.

A thin, very old looking man opened. He seemed to be appalled at the sight of Clarissa and the two strangers.

"Ironside, San Francisco police. And this is officer Whitfield," the Chief introduced himself and Eve.

Mr. Janowski turned white, clutched his chest and leaned against the doorpost.

Slowly he slid down along it, stayed seated for a moment, then fell down to the floor.

Mr. Janowski was gasping for air, but nevertheless he was trying to utter something. He pointed towards the sofa in his living room: "Code, there, luggage locker!"

"Mr. Janowski, did you have something to do with the theft of the Stradivarius?" Ironside asked. In fact he wasn't being heartless – but he felt that it was probably already too late to help the man anyway.

"S-sorry," the old man said – not to the Chief, but to Clarissa. Then he lost consciousness.

"Eve!" Ironside shouted.

She felt for a pulse but didn't find one. The breathing had stopped, too.

Eve knew what she had to do. Instantly she started to resuscitate the old man: chest compressions and rescue breaths. The Chief explained to Clarissa how to give rescue breaths and she accepted to do that, so Eve could concentrate on the compressions.

Ironside managed to squeeze his way past them and get into Mr. Janowski's living room and to his phone. He called for an ambulance.

They didn't have to wait long. The paramedic could do nothing but declare the old man dead. "Heart-attack," he said laconically, used to seeing sudden deaths.

The body was taken away, and Ironside looked around carefully.

There were two violins and a viola hanging on a wall, but no Stradivarius. Otherwise it would have been too easy, he thought, feeling embittered.

The whole room exuded poverty. The furniture was cheap and looked used, the wallpapers were faded. A few old postcards would have been interesting for a historian or for a collector, but Ironside was sure they didn't have to reveal anything about their actual problem. There was one new photograph though: A picture of a pretty red-haired girl and a young man in jeans and a fancy shirt. Ironside turned it over. 'With love - Sandy and Simon' was neatly written on it.

Clarissa had tears in her eyes. "The shock of seeing us together must have been too much for him. He didn't earn that, no matter what he's done."

"Did you understand his last words?" Eve asked.

"He said that he was sorry," remembered Clarissa.

"No – I mean before that. It was something about a code."

Ironside corrected: "It was 'Code, there, luggage locker.' And he pointed towards the sofa." The Chief turned towards the indicated couch. It had seen its best days about thirty years ago, if it had ever had any. There were laying a few more or less decorative cushions and a blanket. On the table in front of the couch they found between newspapers and music sheets an audio cassette. Did Janowski want to tell them that there was a code to a luggage locker on that cassette? That seemed to be a good guess.

"Do you know the two people on the photo?" Ironside asked Clarissa.

"Yes, I do. Sandy Janowski is Mr. Janowski's granddaughter and quite a good violinist. She's playing in our orchestra too. Simon Rowland is her boyfriend."

"Do you happen to know their addresses?"

Clarissa wrote Sandy's address down for the Chief, but she didn't know Simon's.

Meanwhile Eve was searching the apartment for a cassette player. She found a surprisingly modern one in a closet – on top of a lot of disordered stuff, like if it had been put there very recently. She put the cassette into it and played it. There was music – Baroque music: Only two short pieces, and then nothing else. The music sounded familiar, but none of them knew exactly what it was.

"Let's take the photo and this cassette with us – and all scores in the apartment. He probably has the notes to that music. If we recognize it, we might find out the code."

That was easier said than done. There were several big piles of music sheets, collected in a long musician's life. Eve and Clarissa carried all of them out into the paddy-wagon.

On their way back to the apartment-office, the Chief radioed Headquarters.

He ordered to put the house where Sandy lived under surveillance. "I have a hunch that this might prove useful," he explained to Commissioner Randall. And since the topic was the Stradivarius of Clarissa Delongpre, there were no objections.

Ironside and the two young women browsed through the scores trying to find out what pieces of music might be on the cassette.

Mark came home soon afterwards. "What about lunch?" he asked. It was already after two o'clock, but nobody seemed to be interested in food, they only wanted to find out more about the music. Mark made them some ham sandwiches anyway. They ate mechanically, without noticing what it was and – even in Ironside's case – without complaining.

When Ed entered the office, the sandwiches were all gone, the empty plate as a silent reminder still on the table.

Ed's face lit up when he saw Clarissa.

"What about the drug dealer?" Ironside wanted to know.

"He's downstairs and being interrogated," Ed answered.

The Chief was surprised and – for his standards – delighted about the quick success.

"I found him in his apartment together with enough heroin to put him behind bars for ten years," Ed explained. "He tried to run, but he wasn't in particularly good shape."

Admiringly, Clarissa looked up to him. Ed noticed it and was flattered.

"A police officer's job must be very exciting sometimes, I suppose," she said kindly.

"Er – yes, sometimes it is." Why the heck was he so inhibited? Ed was angry at himself. This would have been his chance to show off a little... but it wasn't meant to be.

Ironside took pity with him: "Ed – you might take Clarissa home. I think she needs some rest. Don't you think so, Clarissa?"

She nodded, thankful for his sensitiveness.

But when she and Ed reached the garage, she said: "I have my car with me. I'll manage. It's more important that you help your people find my Stradivarius. I trust you are a very competent police officer, aren't you? This instrument is very important to me, not just because of its financial value. Thank you very much."

Eve replayed the cassette for Ed. "Do you know one of these two pieces?" she asked him.

The first one, played by an orchestra, lasted for only about 40 seconds.

"Oh yes, I know this one: It's the prelude to a choral of Bach, the title is something about Jesus and Jordan." Ed blushed. Nearly apologetically he added: "I recently dated a musician. We went to a concert, and there I heard this music. But when she learned about my job, I wasn't welcome any more."

Now that they knew what they had to look for, they found the right sheets within a few minutes.

It was BWV 7, the 1st movement: "Christ our Lord came to the Jordan".

Ironside voiced his thoughts: "Perhaps the code is 7 – 1. But to be sure we have to find out what numbers the other piece could stand for. And then we still don't know where to look for that luggage locker, not to mention that I don't know of any luggage lockers with codes. That's used with safe deposit boxes only, if I'm not mistaken."

Before they could resume their work, the telephone rang.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Acting and Thinking**

Ironside answered the phone himself. "Yes, fine!" He scribbled some numbers onto a scrap of paper. "Yes, tail him, and keep us informed where he's heading!"

Putting the receiver down he exclaimed: "Come on, let's go! Somebody just came out of Sandy's apartment, probably an employee of a delivery service. He had an envelope in his hand when he left. We have an officer tailing him. This is his license number. Let's follow that truck, too!"

The man with the envelope was heading out of town. The police officer in charge kept Ironside and his team informed, so they had no trouble finding him.

"Okay, we take over," the Chief radioed to the officer. "Go back to the address where you were stationed and see what's going on there."

It was a delivery van about the same size as the paddy wagon. As soon as they were out of town, the driver headed at breakneck speed towards the mountains. Fortunately, Mark was an excellent driver, and he knew his old truck quite well.

Right now, they were driving down into a valley. Ed was the first to spot the bridge: Taking a hairpin bend, the road passed right underneath it.

"Mark, stop right here!"

Before the paddy wagon had come to a full stop, Ed jumped out and climbed over the bridge railing.

Ironside realized what his Sergeant was up to. "I forbid you...!" But he was too late: The little truck was already under the bridge and Ed let himself fall down onto it.

Eve, who had jumped from the back of the paddy wagon, saw Ed land hard on top of the vehicle. His momentum threatened to throw him on the road. Eve's heart skipped a beat, but Ed managed to cling to the roof with one hand. Quickly he tried to stabilize his precarious situation by grasping the roof with his other hand. His lanky body swung back and forth along the truck, high above the ravine.

Through the open rear doors the Chief got a look at the vehicle which was escaping fast.

Ed was obviously trying to open the passenger door. "That fool is going to get himself killed because of a flaming _fiddle_!" he raged.

Then the van turned around the next bend.

"Follow them, Mark – at full speed!" Eve just barely managed to climb back into the paddy wagon, then they were on their way again.

With more force than necessary, Ironside pulled the microphone out of the holder: "Headquarters!" he shouted, too agitated to control his voice, "Headquarters! Anybody listening?... This is Ironside. I need a roadblock! Mark, where exactly are we?"

And for once, they were lucky: Traffic Lieutenant Grant was training a group of young patrolmen for the job - just a few miles ahead!

In the meantime, Ed had managed to open the right front door of the delivery vehicle. Climbing in wasn't easy though. His left knee hit a sharp edge. In spite of the searing pain he managed to pull himself into the co-driver's seat.

Understandably, the driver was shocked to see him there. Not being able to concentrate on the road ahead he started to drive in a snaky line. But he made no attempt to fight Ed who noticed something else though: The man was smelling of whiskey, and not just a little. That was probably the explanation for his crazy driving earlier and still now. Ed had to slow him down and finally stop him as soon as possible - but how?

"You're in no hurry anymore, buddy, I'm already on board," he tried to appease the driver. "What about slowing down a little? Would be less of a danger."

"Don't tell me nothing about danger, you maniac! You're here to kill me anyway, aren't you?"

"Please don't be so dramatic! I'm with the police. You're no big fish, I suppose, so it's not worth killing us both by driving into the ravine."

"Oh come on, boy! Since when do cops do stunts like that?"

Ed had to admit that he probably had a point there.

"Look, it's true. Here's my badge." Ed showed him his wallet. "Now slow down so we can talk."

The driver seemed to consider this suggestion. Contrasting with his driving, his thinking _was_ obviously slowed down by the alcohol. Before he could come to a decision, he saw the mobile roadblock ahead.

"You bloody...!" he shouted at Ed without taking his foot off the accelerator.

Did he want to break through the barricade at full speed? Ed knew that they probably wouldn't survive that. There was a tiny space between the roadblock and the ravine – but it was far too small for their truck, and moreover there were several young patrolmen standing there. Did the alcohol blur the driver's vision so that he couldn't see that? Obviously it did – because he suddenly turned left, towards the ravine. Instantly, Ed pushed him away to get his foot onto the brakes. They fought for the wheel. At the very last moment Ed managed to prevent the worst: They crashed into the outermost left element of the barricade, but didn't go over the top; the truck came to a stop, one of the wheels already in the air.

The patrolmen, who had taken to their heels in a panic, turned back and watched the vehicle incredulously. Ed pulled the driver out through the co-driver's door.

"Arrest them!" Lieutenant Grant ordered his people. Ironside had talked to him on the radio to explain why they needed his roadblock. Nonetheless Grant added: "both of them, until we know what's really going on here!"

Ed didn't resist, but he tried to explain the situation: "Sir, I'm Sergeant Ed Brown. I'm with Chief Ironside ..."

"Then how could you risk running over my people?"

With screeching brakes the paddy wagon stopped short in front of the roadblock. Like frozen, everybody stood and watched as Ironside was lowering his wheelchair to the ground and rolling past Ed and towards Lieutenant Grant. "Thank you very much, Lieutenant! I see that you and your people have done a fantastic job!"

The Lieutenant was unsure how he should react. "You're welcome, Sir – but is that lunatic over there really one of your boys? He risked our lives! If he were one of my patrolmen..."

"Don't worry – next week he may well be one of your patrolmen!" Ironside said, loud enough for Ed to hear. His voice sounded metallic and hard-edged.

Two of the patrolmen tested the driver's breath for alcohol and found that he was considerably intoxicated. The driver, who indicated that his name was "Mu – hicks – Muller," was handcuffed and sent to Headquarters in a patrol car. "I want to interrogate him later this evening!" Ironside stated before they left.

Ironside scowled at Ed Brown. "We'll talk later," he told his pale Sergeant in a harsh tone. "For now, search the vehicle."

Ed felt completely dejected. Would he really be downgraded to patrolman? But there was no time for self-pity now. Perhaps if they found a hint to the Stradivarius that would appease the Chief somewhat, he thought. Together with Eve he went over every inch of the car. They found a half-full bottle of whiskey, some trash and a load of new laundry detergent boxes which obviously should have been delivered, but nothing that resembled a note or an envelope. So Muller probably had it with him.

Under Ironside's close observation, Ed and Eve stuffed all the possible evidence into the paddy wagon.

Mark took the wheel while Ed and Eve rode in the back with Ironside. The young people had never seen their boss in such a cold fury. Ed was looking at his feet.

"Committing suicide is one thing, but risking the lives of others is another all together. What the flaming blazes did you _think_ you were doing?"

Words failed Ed. There was no answer at all to Ironside's question.

The bleeding on Ed's leg had stopped, but the stinging pain reminded him of his foolishness. Fortunately the marks didn't show on his dark brown pants but he pressed his knees together anyway. The Chief wouldn't be pleased if he saw anything.

Eve tried to win some points for Ed: "Muller was driving under the influence after all. And Ed didn't kn…"

"And that's supposed to justify killing him – or those patrolmen, for that matter?" Ironside barked, interrupting Eve who did not dare speak another word.

When they reached Headquarters, Ironside sent Ed home without further explanation. Pointing at the load of possible, but improbable, evidence he said to Eve: "I will have somebody take that stuff to forensics. You take care of Clarissa, perhaps she remembers something she didn't think of before." At that, he headed up to his office.

Eve caught up with Ed before he reached his car.

"You have to understand him – he was really frightened when he saw you jump on that van."

"I _do_ understand."

"Perhaps he didn't really mean what he said," she tried to keep Ed's hopes up.

But both of them knew that this wasn't likely. They had heard his voice and seen his face. Depressed they parted and headed home.

Ed didn't know if he deserved a demotion. He had been far too keen on finding that Stradivarius. Did he want to impress Clarissa? What for? Now he felt that he was losing ground under his feet. Working for the Chief had been a lot more than just a job for him. It had been a chance and a challenge at the same time. Ironside's brilliant mind had been an inspiration, and he had felt proud to be a member of his staff – perhaps too proud? Because as the saying goes: pride comes before a fall.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Quarrel and Relief

Back at the office Ironside sent Mark away. "Go to your class, you said you had an important exam in physics."

Mark sensed that the Chief was depressed because Ed had failed him. He didn't want to leave him in this state. But Ironside insisted. He wanted to be alone.

When Mark had left, Ironside poured himself a bourbon and allowed himself to examine his own inner feelings.

He felt disappointed and worn out. Ed had let him down. He'd never expected him to jump off a bridge onto a fast-moving vehicle! And then the situation at the roadblock: The prospect of the van running over those patrolmen and Ed being in any way responsible for it sent a shiver down his spine.

Ed was normally a level-headed young man, he usually reflected before talking or acting. His behavior this afternoon was completely out of character.

Actually such a behavior would not have been surprising a few years back when he'd first met the the mourning, angry rookie-cop Ed had been then, fanatically trying to track down Tom Dayton* – and nobody had believed him. Nobody except Ironside. Having lost a wife himself, the Chief had understood him. They had solved the case together and many others since then. During the last couple of years Ironside had shown him not only the trade, but every criminalist's trick he knew himself. People called Ed his "prize pupil" now, and Ironside had thought that they were right – until today.

It hurt to be wrong. And it hurt to lose faith in a friend, and that was what had happened today. Ironside wheeled to his favorite window: the view of the city had always had an appeasing effect on him and he needed it right now to find an answer to his question. Why?  
>Why had Ed acted on a whim? Did it have anything to do with Clarissa, Eve's friend, the upper-class girl? Had he fallen in love with her, so that he wanted to prove something to her – that he was worthy of her love? The Chief knew that it would be unlike Ed Brown.<p>

Suddenly Ironside realised that he was looking for excuses for Ed!

He preferred not to think about him anymore. There were more urgent matters to consider right now: Muller for instance. He had to question him to find out if he knew anything about the Stradivarius, and he had to find that envelope. He wheeled himself up to the elevator.

Muller was brought into an interrogation room. He looked quite sleepy by now, the alcohol seemed to take its toll. The officer in charge handed a thick, crumpled envelope over to the Chief. "We found that in one of his pockets. And since you were interested in everything in the car we thought..."

"Thank you, officer! You may leave now."

Ironside wheeled to the table where Muller was having trouble keeping his eyes open. "Muller, what do you know about this envelope?"

"Nothing, except where I had to get it from and the address I had to deliver it to."

"Tell me that address."

"Why should I? It was _your_ boy who nearly got me killed, wasn't it? That guy was completely crazy!"

That was sort of true and Ironside hated to be reminded. Muller seemed to sense that he had the upper hand and went on: "And who's going to pay for the repairs on my van?"

"Who was driving it when you crashed into that road block?" Ironside asked back.

"Well, that was me – but of course I was angry when that cop told me to slow down without even mentioning the barricade! So it's his damn fault."

This changed Ironside's point of view regarding the roadblock. Ed wasn't to know that it would be there. Perhaps Ed would have found a way to talk Muller into slowing down. This was a comforting thought. Ironside felt somewhat placated.

"If my Sergeant had not interfered, then the vehicle would probably be beyond repair, wouldn't it? And you probably wouldn't be complaining, neither right now nor anytime anymore, would you?"

Muller just grumbled something, corroborating Ironside's hypothesis.

"Why you should tell me that address? Because we will get you not only for DUI but also for theft, if you don't cooperate."

"I ain't nothin to do with no theft!"

"Then why did you try to flee when you noticed that you were being followed?" Ironside hoped that Muller wouldn't pretend that it had been because he was afraid of being caught driving under the influence. But Muller had too much of a hangover to be smart.

"Wouldn't you try to flee if somebody had paid you $1,000 for the delivery of a letter and you were being followed?"

The Chief smiled inwardly, but stony-faced he insisted: "The address, Muller."

And the driver told him what he wanted to know: The address of a farm in the mountains, belonging to a family named Rowland.

After a quick look into the envelope – which contained another sheet of music - Ironside went back to his office. Now there were two codes to break. When he opened the door, the telephone rang. He hurried down the ramp and barked: "Ironside!"

"Sir, this is Madeleine Delongpre, Clarissa's mother. I've just come home. On the kitchen table I've found a letter from Clarissa. She wrote that somebody called her regarding her violin. She should bring five thousand dollars and then she would be given a paper telling her where to find the Stradivarius. I've got the address here, it's at the beach. I'm scared – imagine: My daughter meeting with a criminal alone at the beach!"

Ironside tried to calm her down: "Just give me the address. I will go out there immediately with some policemen. Try not to worry too much."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Acting and Story-Telling**

Ironside would go out to the beach with some policemen all right… but Mark was at school, Ed wasn't in the Chief's good books at the moment, so that left just Eve. Of course he would go along, but he needed a fully operational man to join them. After what he had heard from Muller he didn't have to give it much thought. He reached Officer Whitfield at home.

"Eve, have you talked to Clarissa tonight?"

"No, I was thinking of seeing her tomorrow. Don't tell me you want me to talk to her this late?"

"Since when does this office observe office hours?" Ironside barked. "You can't talk to her tonight but I need you and Ed. Tell him to pick you up and come here at once, it's urgent!"

When Eve, stunned, started to reply: "Chief...?", the line was already dead.

Ed, who because of the cut on his knee was wearing old baggy slacks now, didn't dare look up. Like a chastised schoolboy he stood behind Eve who looked like she wanted to protect him.

"Take the wheel!" Ironside ordered, thinking that there would be time for explanations later.

"Yessir."

"You will do exactly what I tell you, nothing more, nothing less."

"Yessir."

"And you won't jump off anything tonight!"

"No, Sir." Had Ed looked into Ironside's eyes, he would have seen a humorous glint there.

Before reaching the indicated address, in the beam of the car headlights they saw a young man standing by a cliff, looking down at the rocks that emerged from tumultuous waters. Eve, who was sitting in the passenger seat, recognized him: "Chief, this is Simon Rowland, the man in the photo in Janowski's apartment!"

They got out and approached Simon who was staring down into the water.

The young man was obviously upset: "I wanted to give her an envelope. A gust of wind blew the paper away, and she jumped off the cliff because she didn't want to lose it!"

They saw a dark head in the water below, then it disappeared, then it appeared again. There had to be a strong current down there.

"Who? Clarissa?" Ironside asked. Simon nodded.

A cry of anguish made Ed forget his promise. Running towards the edge he removed his jacket and shoes and jumped into the swirling water.

The Chief knew that he had to do that. In Ed's position, he would have acted exactly the same way. But it was a dangerous jump again.

"You get down to the river bank immediately!" he barked at Simon, "or else I will keep you responsible for their deaths, if it should come to that!"

Simon found a small path leading down to the shore. Eve followed suit.

But when they arrived at the bottom of the cliff, Ed and Clarissa had been carried away, out into the darkness.

From above Ironside saw Ed grab Clarissa and then struggle to swim against the current to prevent the girl from drowning. Nobody could help Ed and least of all Ironside himself, even if he was still a decent swimmer. It was one of those insupportable situations for him and he cursed his handicap. Before the bullet he would have jumped into the water himself, would have saved both Ed and the girl. He had been strong and athletic... Now all he had left were his brains, and that didn't help this time. While Ed was fighting against the elements, the Chief had to fight his own inner struggle.

For a seemingly endless time, Ironside had to wait, not sure if Ed would be able to make it back to shore.

But then he heard Eve shout, and both she and Simon were wading out into the shallow water. Simon took Clarissa's limp body out of Ed's arms. Eve supported him, and together they carried the girl up to the Chief.

Ed collapsed right on the river bank.

Simon didn't know what to do with the unconscious girl. Ironside felt for a pulse. It was weak, but steady. He had to suppress a sigh of relief. He quickly explained to Simon how to place her in the recovery position.

In the meantime, Eve had climbed into the paddy wagon and called an ambulance for Clarissa.

"Ed!" Ironside shouted down.

"I'm on my way!" The cut on Ed's knee was bleeding again. The pain irradiating from the wound made him wince but he was determined not to show how much it hurt. He had to gather all his strength to pick himself up and make it up back to the paddy wagon.

"Clarissa?" he gasped, as soon as he saw her.

"She'll be fine, I assume."

Eve was sitting at Clarissa's side. So she was the first to notice her regaining consciousness.

"Easy, Clarissa, easy!" she tried to calm her friend.

"Letter!" Clarissa managed.

The Chief understood instantly. "Did you catch it?"

"Pocket!" She groped for the pocket of her dress.

Surprised Eve found a soaked envelope.

"Eve – don't open it!" Ironside intervened, "or it might get destroyed. At headquarters we have the possibility to save whatever might be written on it."

When the ambulance had left, they all got into the paddy wagon. Ironside asked Simon, who was riding with him in the back: "Are you going to tell me what's going on or do I have to expect any more games?"

Slowly Simon told the story of the "Stradivarius".

"Janowski told us that Clarissa would have to deposit her valuable violin in her locker at the gym. When there was nobody there, I got it out. We wanted to wait until it wouldn't be so hot anymore to be able to sell it. It's now in a strong box, but I don't know where. And I have no idea of where the key is. I gave the Stradivarius to Sandy. She's Janowski's granddaughter and my girlfriend. We both trusted her, and she had to promise to tell nobody, not even one of us, where she put it, so that we could only get it together.

Sandy hid the key to that strong box in a safe deposit box, one with a code. Janowski and I were given the code, each of us having only half of the numbers. To remember them we wrote them down as musical enigmas, and Sandy made one out of the place of the strong box too. Of that one she would again tell one half to each of us. We found that funny. She'd already told me half of her enigma. But then, Janowski had that heart-attack and died before she had given him his part of the information concerning the strong box.

I wanted to solve his codes as long as I could hope that his hints were still in place, and the other half of Sandy's enigma, just in case Sandy and I would have a row– you never know. But I was unsuccessful. I sent Muller to look for it in her apartment and he found it all right, but he never reached our farm out in the mountains. And I couldn't lay my hands on Janowski' numbers either. At last I thought it would be easier to cut the losses and make Clarissa pay for what I had: First of all the part of Sandy's enigma I knew about – that's what's in the envelope – and then my part of the numbers. That's all."

"So we don't have to find out what's in the soaked letter. You can repeat what's in it for us, can't you? And also your part of the numbers?" Ironside asked.

"I can give you my numbers, of course, but not Sandy's enigma. I wrote it down, but I didn't learn it by heart. There were several numbers, some of them quite big ones."

As soon as they reached headquarters, Ed booked Simon, and Ironside and Eve took the soaked letter to the lab.

They were lucky: The most brilliant chemist of the San Francisco Police Department was still at work. Roberts looked like a hippie and smelled different each day. That depended on what he was working on – or playing with, for that matter, because chemistry was not only his job, but also his hobby.

"I'll wait until you're finished," Ironside announced.

"You _do_ want to know what's on this sheet of paper, don't you?"

"Of course I do!"

"In that case don't rush me. Go get a good night's sleep and let me do my job in the meantime."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Results and Surprises**

"But as soon as you have any results you'll let me know, won't you?" Ironside was almost begging.

"Yes, Sir, I will."

So Ironside had no choice but to leave. He didn't go to bed though.

Eve and Ed wanted to stay and work on the codes too.

Ed's clothes were still damp, but he only accepted one of Mark's shirts, since they didn't wear the same size of pants.

Simon had provided his numbers: 8-3-5-2. They knew that they had to get four numbers out of Janowski's cassette as well: The first four digits of the code for the lock of the safe deposit box.

They were quite sure now that the first of the two pieces on the cassette stood for 7-1 – that seemed logical. They still had to identify the second piece of music.

On top of the cassette they had the envelope Muller had found in Sandy's apartment, that other sheet of music. It was Baroque again, that much was clear, but they didn't recognize that music either. There was no title, no composer's name, no date. It was a slow movement but it might be Bach, Vivaldi, Telemann… anyone really.

There had to be a message hidden in this music, but what was it?

"We should arrest Sandy for accessory to theft, and then ask her – perhaps we could get her to tell us," Ironside said, and he radioed to the policeman stationed in front of her apartment.

"She hasn't come back yet," the officer in charge said.

That was bad news.

All they could do was keep leafing through Janowski's notes and trying to make sense of Sandy's sheet – but in vain.

At two in the morning Mark served them some chili. By then, Ironside was really hungry, and even Eve could do with something solid in her stomach. Only Ed appeared not to be hungry. This seemed odd to the Chief whose instincts told him that Clarissa must be on the young man's mind. Was he still eager to please her? Ironside shook his head. 'Foolish youth,' he thought. If a girl didn't accept a man the way he was – with his positive and negative features – there was no use in trying to impress her.

At three o'clock it was Ironside who found the notes to the second piece on the cassette: It was out of a violin-sonata by Vivaldi, RV 4-2, but not the beginning. That was the reason why they hadn't found it sooner.

"Chief, you are a genius!" Eve said affectionately, and Ed nodded.

"Ed, go and ask Roberts how he's doing with that envelope!"

"Ok, Chief." Ed stood up. For just a moment he swayed slightly, the next he was lying on the floor.

"Ed! Ed, what's the matter with you?" Ironside's question got no answer.

Meanwhile Eve had rushed to Ed and was now kneeling down next to him, feeling his pulse. "It's too fast," she reported, "at least ninety beats per minute." His respiration was too fast, too.

Ironside reached down to touch Ed's face. "He's running a fever, although not very high."

Only then did he see the dark spots on Ed's pant leg. Ed was already regaining consciousness. He tried to sit up.

"Stay right where you are!" Ironside ordered.

Eve pulled the pant leg up to Ed's knee. They saw the nasty, swollen red cut.

"What did you think you were doing, not telling anybody about that cut?" To Eve and Mark it was clear that Ironside was only being so harsh out of concern.

Ed sounded a little sluggish: "It's nothing, just a scratch. I thought that salt water should disinfect wounds."

"It does, but the effect is only limited. And the problem is the gems. There must have been something virulent in the sea water. – Mark, take him to a doctor and then home!"

Mark helped Ed stand up – slowly this time. When the Chief saw the crestfallen look on Ed's face, he understood that the Sergeant in his feverish mind was still thinking that if he would be out of that door he might never be allowed to come back.

"You're not the only one who's made mistakes in this case." Ironside said in a soft tone of voice. He was aware that, among other things, he should have made sure that Ed was doing all right after having to swim for his and Clarissa's life.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Ed whispered.

"So am I. Come back as soon as you feel up to it, Sergeant."

* * *

><p>About half an hour later, Roberts knocked on the door.<p>

"I have it, Sir!" he announced proudly, trotting down the ramp.

"And – what does it say?"

"I've no idea."

"Could you please explain?" Ironside had no time to play games.

"There are only numbers. Take a look yourself!"

The letter was crumpled, but the numbers written on it were quite clearly visible.

171717 333 555 131313

333 13 13 17 6 5

3 131313

3 17 161616 171717 333 161616 131313.

"You've done a terrific job, Roberts. Thank you!"

The chemist knew that this compliment, coming from the Chief, was worth a lot.

"Thank you, Sir – anytime!" At that he left Ironside's office.

Ironside put Sandy's sheet away and started to think about the numbers. They weren't looking for a short code now like the one of the safe deposit box. It had to be a message, but he couldn't think of one...

Barely an hour after the boys had left, Mark came back to the office – with Ed in tow. He still wasn't really strong on his legs, but a bright smile was spread across his face.

"He's stitched up and full of antibiotics," Mark confirmed. "He can go on scaring truck-drivers and playing hero."

Ironside thought that Ed shouldn't have been there at all, but he couldn't bring himself to send him away. The young man obviously needed them right now.

"Okay, here are our codes. Come on, sit down and let us know what you think about them."

Muller's and Clarissa's codes were spread out on the table. Unlike Eve and the Chief, Ed was looking at them from his 6 foot 2.

"They _do_ belong together, don't they?" he asked.

Surprised, Ironside looked up at him. "They _what_?"

"I mean – don't Clarissa's numbers tell you how to read Muller's music?"

"Bingo! That's it. It doesn't matter at all what kind of music it is, we just have to count the notes. A three means we have to take the third note!"

Eve still didn't understand Ironside. "But to write a message you usually need more letters than the ones of the music scale – and on the other hand there's a 171717. What might that mean?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I have an idea." Ironside wrote the notes of the music scale down on a slip of paper, starting with "a":

a b c d e f g.

Then he went on with the alphabet, writing the following letters below the first ones:

a b c d e f g

h i j k l m n

o p q r s t u

v w x y z.

"Ah – you mean: If it is a number with repeated digits, we have to read the accordant letter of the second row and so on?" Eve was quite excited now.

"Could be. Let's give it a try."*

They did – and got the solution: "Post office at airport".

* * *

><p>* Author's note: The sheet actually showed a "Masura" of Johann Philipp Kirnberger. But they didn't need to know that...<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 Girls and Girls

Ironside took a deep breath. "Let's go to the airport, then. We still have a job to finish. Ed – please stay here by the phone in case something new comes up. Feel free to take a nap on the sofa."

That was an elegant solution to let Ed have some rest without hurting his pride.

Mark drove the team to the airport in no time as there wasn't much traffic this early in the morning. They made their way to the safe deposit box and punched in the code. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over everyone at the sight of a key. "It's a treasure hunt," Ironside thought. "This key leads us to an airport lockbox." He knew that kind of key, he had seen a lot of them over the years. It was the kind with a little plate on which the number of the lockbox was engraved. Assuming this was the right airport, they were getting close to the violin…

Standing in front of a wall of lockboxes Eve inserted the key into the lock in question, started to turn it and…

"Stop it right there or I will kill your Chief!"

…froze.

Eve turned round. Sandy, Janowski's red-haired granddaughter, was standing in front of Ironside, a gun pointed at his head. "I won't miss. And I won't be outsmarted again. Simon thought he could do that, and you know where it got him, don't you?"

Eve was paralyzed by fear. She was too far away to intervene and so was Mark. A glimmer of insanity in Sandy's eyes told Eve that the girl was about to lose her nerve. For somebody with a gun in their hands this was an extremely dangerous state.

Ironside seemed completely unfazed. "Sandy, until now you're just guilty of accessory to theft. You probably won't even have to go to jail. But if you go through with this, it will get a lot worse. I can understand your frustration: You are a good violinist, a lot better than Clarissa Delongpre. You think that you deserve a good instrument – perhaps you wanted to keep the Stradivarius for yourself, or sell it and buy another fine instrument instead. That's understandable."

The Chief could see that the insanity in Sandy's eyes was slowly vanishing. Somehow she felt understood. But the gun was still in its dangerous place. Ironside had to consider how to go on.

"You can achieve a great deal as a musician. You don't need a Stradivarius. You will do a fine job playing one of your grandfather's violins. And in a few years you will have enough money to buy a really good instrument – without having to commit a crime, but out of honest work. That will feel really good – do you believe me?" The girl nodded. "Give me that gun now. It's just not worth it, is it?

Sandy let the gun drop. It sounded very loud in the nearly empty place. She buried her head in her hands and started crying. "I wanted to please them – both of them. And now my grandfather is dead and Simon betrayed me. My life is going down the drain," she said, shaking her head.

Eve stepped towards the girl, laid her arm around Sandy's shoulders and said: "You're a fine musician and a strong young woman. Let me be your friend. I have a lot of friends who will appreciate your music. You'll have your chance, I promise."

A few days later, Clarissa came to see Ironside and his team. She brought a huge box of chocolates with her. "I wanted to thank you. You've done a great job! I'm really happy to have my Stradivarius back. Thank you, all of you!"

She shook hands with each of them and left. Ironside personally showed her out.

Eve could see that Ed was disappointed. "She can't remember what happened in the ocean at all, and that's probably a good thing." Her hand brushed slightly over Ed's shoulder. "She wouldn't have been the right one for you."

Ed managed a smile: "No, she wouldn't. But I'm glad that the Chief's giving me a second chance to work with him, you and Mark. You're my family."

Remembering Ironside's words to Sandy, Eve answered thoughtfully: "That's what it's all about, isn't it? Being forgiven and getting a second chance. And not having to prove anything to those who love you, but being accepted as the person you are."

Ironside returned. "Children," he announced cheerfully, "we all know that we're not allowed financial rewards. But you have earned a reward, and something more consistent than chocolate. Let's go out, I'll buy you a cheap dinner."

"How cheap?" Eve asked suspiciously.

Heading towards the elevator again, Ironside shouted: "_Very_ cheap!"

* * *

><p><em>Author's note:<em>

_Thank you, all my faithful readers!_

_Thank you, all you encouraging reviewers!_

_And first and foremost: Thank you, my patient and ingenious beta-reader "lemonpig73"! _


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